His Fireheart
by S. Corona
Summary: Always wondered what Rowan Whitethorn thought about the last incidents in Heir of Fire? Well, 'His Fireheart' is a short story on his take of the incidents following the fight with the Valg princes. Read how Rowan controls (or tries to at least) his new feelings for Aelin and the beginning of Rowaelin. All characters respectfully belong to Sarah J Maas.
1. Chapter 1

Aelin was tired. She had to be. Even if Rowan had given her his magic as they were _carranum_. He had suspected it for a while.

And the suspicions were true.

He didn't know whether to laugh or roar when she would be leaving for Adarlan soon and them being _carranum_ wouldn't mean anything. Nothing as he probably wouldn't be seeing her again. Not until he was bound to Maeve.

He shoved away the thought. For now he focused on getting Aelin to his room- _their_ room- safely. She was so tired- so was he but he had been more tired on countless occasions that he could manage- that she didn't know where she was walking. She was directionless.

When they landed on the correct floor, Aelin turned left. Wrong turn. He quickly grabbed her shoulders and turned her towards the opposite direction- the correct direction. She was half asleep. He didn't give her time and grabbed her in his arms and carried her to their room the bridal way. She didn't object. She wouldn't have the energy to do so.

When they reached their room, he noticed her taking a look at the mirror and frown at her reflection. At her shoulder length hair. It didn't matter how long her hair was. She was beautiful.

Rowan gently placed her on the bed and she was already unconscious.

"Aelin." He shook her shoulder.

"Fuck off." She spoke in her pillow. He chuckled under his breath. He didn't chuckle or snort for centuries but after he met Aelin, it had become somewhat a common thing. He made him want to laugh and smile.

"You need to remove your weapon belt and eat something."

She didn't respond. She just turned to her side so that the weapon belt's buckle was facing him. A silent request. On any other day he wouldn't think much, but now, after his new feeling for this beautiful princess before him, he hesitated.

 _Don't think about it, Rowan. It doesn't mean anything._ He chanted this while opening the buckle and removing it.

 _Done!_

"Now eat." An order.

"You don't order me, Prince." Her voice was guttural.

"No I don't but it's for your own good, Fireheart." Luca had handed him the food while they were climbing upstairs. The food they had prepared the last night. As long as it was edible, Rowan didn't object.

Aelin sighed deeply through her nose. She still didn't open her eyes. "Feed me."

It was Rowan's turn to sigh but he picked up the platter from his work table and sat on the edge of her bed. He had never done this kind of thing- feeding- for anyone. But then again lines had always been blurred for them.

He picked up the whole slice of bread and said, "Sit." Her arms buckled but she managed to sit halfway, leaning on the headboard. Her eyes were still close. "Open your mouth."

She did. Opened her eyes and spat the bread away.

"What?" Rowan asked.

"You bastard, do you know how to feed a person?"

"No." he admitted.

"You don't just put a whole slice of bread in someone's mouth." And swore colorfully. He huffed another laugh. She just glared at him with blear eyes.

"What do you want me to do?" Rowan asked.

"Break the bread into pieces before stuffing them into my mouth, you centuries-old idiot."

So he did as she said. He carefully broke them into adequate sized pieces before putting them into her mouth. After about two or three pieces, when she was sure that he wouldn't commit the same mistake again, Aelin let her eyes droop, not to sleep, just rest.

Sometimes, when he put food into her mouth she would close her mouth around his fingers.

Gods damn him.

Because he liked that.

No. it wasn't correct to go down that path. She would go to Doranelle, get her answers from Maeve and then go back to Adarlan. Few more days and she would have to leave him. Tears stung at the back of Rowan's throat at that thought. When was the last time he had cried? Centuries ago. And this girl, who he just knew for months, made his eyes sting.

No. Rowan would not think about it. He would concentrate on feeding her and not think about how he felt when her mouth closed around his hands. How his heartbeat thundered. How his breathing hitched. How he liked that.


	2. Chapter 2

Aelin slept for two days. When finally she woke up, rowan was at his work table, studying the casualty list. They were very less. Mostly the demi fae who had betrayed them, including Bas. She woke up and Rowan found him immediately next to her bed, kneeling.

"Do you need anything?" he asked. A bit too fussily.

"Water." Her voice was like sandpaper. Hoarse.

Rowan moved faster than he ever had in his life.

 _He was fussing just because she is a princess and a future queen of a realm. Not because of anything else_. He reminded himself.

"Thanks." She muttered. When she had downed the whole pitcher, she asked, "How long was I out?"

"Two days." Her eyes widened at that. He gave her a wry smile.

"Well, I'm going to bathe." She looked down at herself. Rowan had removed her jacket and shoes, his breathing so ragged during that time, but he hadn't dared to touch her tunic and pants. They were still dirty. "I assume I will have to clean your bed."

"Obviously." She smiled and it stuck him stupid.

She made to get up but Rowan was already there, a hand around her shoulder, letting her lean against him until she found her footing.

When they went to the kitchen for her to eat something, Luca and Emrys were immediately there.

"Are you alright, Aelin?" there was indeed concern in the old man's eyes when he looked at the bandages.

"The bandages are just to elicit sympathy. Don't worry." At least her good spirits weren't down.

"Is there any food? She needs to eat." Rowan asked.

Emrys nodded and Luca guided Aelin to one of the tables. There were four seats. Rowan went to sit beside Aelin but Luca was already there. So he sat in the one across her. Soon Emrys brought the food. Aelin downed it like a wild dog. A hungry wild dog. Her table manners were atrocious. And she didn't care. So unlike the nobility he knew. Sometimes Rowan could only look at her and marvel. Sometimes like now.

He wished he had waited longer to be blood sworn with anyone. This girl- woman- she had fought with the last bit of life and magic in her for demi fae who she didn't even know much. Maeve would have let them die, just out of spite. But Aelin, she would never have done that. Never let the demi fae in this fortress who weren't trained for battles suffer.

Then they began talking. Well, Luca did most of the talking while the rest listened. Sometimes Aelin would make some witty comments and come backs, as always, and no one would be able to control their laughter. Rowan included.

When Luca said something, Rowan wasn't listening; he was looking at Aelin, it made her laugh. Rowan stored the sound of her laugh to his memories. So sweet. The best music he had ever heard. That's when Emrys brought her a dessert. Multiple truffles. She took a bite, moaned and said to him, "You two are so coming to my place to cook for me. No objections."

"If you reclaim your throne." The old man added with a soft smile.

"You will always have a place in Orynth. You two, Malakai," she turned her eyes to Rowan and was there sorrow there? "And you too, Rowan, should you ever come to Terrasen." She gave him a sad smile before indulging into one more truffle.

 _I want to come to Terrasen. I want to be with you._

He wanted to scream this at her but to what use. He was blood sworn to Maeve. He was worse than her slave.

Luca stole a few truffles from Aelin's dish when he thought she wasn't noticing because Luca knew the wrath he would have to face if he asked for a bite of a sugar confection from Aelin, but Rowan was sure she knew.


	3. Chapter 3

After about a week of rebuilding and gathering strength, Emrys had decided to throw a great feast. Rowan didn't want to go, thanks to his introvert nature. But Aelin bullied and then dragged him downstairs to the small forest opening where the party was set. In the center a huge bonfire was lit. Around it people danced and sang to the beats of the drums which were playing nearby.

Around them, many tables were set. Emrys, Luca and other demi fae rushed in and out of the kitchen bringing out various kind of mouth watery food items. And on another table was fae wine. An endless stock of it.

"Come on." Aelin said while tugging hands towards the dancing people.

All of Rowan's sensations narrowed down to their adjoined hands. But then he realized what she was saying.

"Heck no." he barked. Although he hated it, but he removed his hand from hers.

Aelin placed her hands on her hips. "What's your problem?"

"I can't dance." He admitted.

"Neither can I, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't." and that was that as she again pulled him to the dancing lot. Right in the middle so that Rowan couldn't escape. _Smart move._

Aelin took Rowan's hand and placed it on her waist.

 _Holy gods._

Then linked the other one and placed her left hand on his chest.

 _Dangerous territory_.

And then they danced. Rowan was stiff. Tensed. He didn't dance and this woman, she just made him.

The music was nice. Fast. Thank the gods it wasn't soft and honeyed otherwise he would have lost it. he would have-

He shook his head to clear away what exactly he would have done.

"Buzzard, why are you so stiff?" she had to tip back her head to look at him. They were that close.

"I can't dance." He growled. He gave her a look which sent men running but she just snorted. She was never afraid of him. Neither was he afraid of her.

"Well, don't worry. Nobody is seeing you if you're concerned."

He looked around. Everyone was watching them.

"Yes, they are."

"Correction," she smirked, "everyone's looking at me. Not you." Rowan barked a laugh and then he showed her what he was capable of. How good dance he could do. He twisted and moved and she practically skimmed over him. They never faltered a step.

And when they were done, both of them breathing heavily, "Well, who told you can't dance?" and she chuckled.

And everyone else just cheered and smiled. Luca whistled. Rowan felt all the blood in his body reach his neck and cheeks.

"Well, let's eat." He said if only to get out of the applause.

All the tables were set. The best of cutlery was in use. Food was set in all the tables. Rowan and Aelin made their way to the corner table. But Luca caught them both and led them to the center table, the biggest one, the one where you would get most attention.

"Our saviors need the best service, don't they?" he said, flashing a grin.

"Please." Aelin muttered. But she indeed was the savior. So was Rowan but Aelin had played the bigger part in saving them. She wouldn't accept it thought.

"I hope you regret your decision." Rowan said in her ear.

"Oh, not at all, Prince. I love publicity. Gives me an air of dignity." He elbowed her in the ribs. She chuckled and sat down in one of the chairs, Rowan beside her, Luca across her.

"You two were on fire." Luca exclaimed. "The best dance I have ever seen." he continued babbling but Rowan started eating. He was hungry. Aelin started too while also talking to the boy.

"How about a drinking contest?" Aelin suggested.

"You're on." Luca replied.

Before Rowan could stop this, both of them had rushed to the table with fae wine. Both of them got twenty glasses a piece.

"Wait, stop." Rowan ordered.

"In your dreams." Aelin muttered. "On the count of three. Three… Two… One."

And they erupted. Aelin with one glass in both the hands. She drank and drank and drank.

Idiot. Pathetic.

But there was no stopping her.

And obviously Aelin won. When she was done with the twenty glasses, Luca still had five left. "Good luck next time, boyo."

But Luca was already high and had passed pout.

Aelin was on the verge of passing out as well.

"Buzzard, you want to try?"

"Princess, enough of your tomfoolery. We're leaving. You're high."

"But it's fun." She pouted. Rowan had to swallow his laugh. He just gave her a hard look. "Fine. Maybe I am a tad high."

"Just a tad." He chuckled.

She came towards him ad her knees buckled. Before she could kiss grass, he had swept her up in his arm and took her to his room.

When Rowan shut the door and set the princess on the bed, her hands were fisted in the front of his tunic. Rowan tried to remove them. Slowly, one finger after the other, hew removed her hands.

She stirred. "Thank you for looking after me, Rowan. I wish you could come with me back to Rifthold and then Terrasen. But it can't happen, right? Because of my bitch of an aunt. I hate her." Her words slurred and she fell asleep.

Yes. All this because of her and his bitch of an aunt.


	4. Chapter 4

The last day of their trek to Doranelle. Rowan had been preparing himself for it. He had grown quite. He wouldn't talk to her. He was building up walls between him and Aelin. He had the vague sense that she knew that. She too had grown quiet. He wanted to grow distant so he wouldn't miss her much. But he was sure, it would be in vain.

He woke up from where they had been sleeping in a cave. Aelin was still asleep. Dawn had just broken. He woke up and walked out of the cave and to the cliff's edge.

And holy gods!

Mala, the Fire bringer, appeared before him.

"My child, what do you wish for?" she asked. Her voice a sweet melody.

He wished that Aelin would have enough courage and luck that she would walk out of Maeve's palace. He also wished…

He wished to be free from Maeve so that he could accompany Aelin.

A selfish wish and a fool's hope really. One that would no way be true whatsoever.

As if he had spoken it out loud, Mala smiled and disappeared. At the same time, Aelin woke up.

Rowan kept pace with Aelin as they moved through Maeve's palace. Last walk together. He was sure Maeve wouldn't even let them bid good byes. It was better, he thought. He wouldn't be able to say her farewell. They walked, Aelin keeping quiet, he too being quiet. They finally entered the throne room. And he saw Maeve.

"Hello, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius." A taunt to Aelin but Maeve didn't know that Aelin had shredded her old name, Celaena and opted for Aelin, her true name. Why? Even he didn't know. She had given him clipped answers. That whatever she saw due to the Valg princes had her wanting to reclaim the throne. For her people. For Terrasen.

Rowan did what he was expected to do. Kneel. Maeve didn't even look at him as he did so. Like countless past incidents. He was so used to it by now but Rowan could scent Aelin's irritation.

And then they began to talk. Aelin asked her questions, Maeve answering them. When suddenly Maeve asked her whether she had any inkling of the location of the Wyrdkey.

"No, I don't." Aelin said.

And then, what he had dreaded, "Rowan, rise and tell me the truth."

This was the reason- the only reason- why he hadn't pushed Aelin to tell him anything about the location of the Wyrdkey. He wouldn't tell Maeve.

Then, Maeve yanked on the blood oath. He stood up, as if he was compelled to do so. He swallowed.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit._

 _Think, Rowan. Think._

 _Find a way out of this._

But there was no way. Maeve yanked on the oath again and he started speaking, "She found a riddle, and she knows the King of Adarlan has at least the first key, but doesn't know where he keeps it. She also learned what Brannon did with the third- and where it is. She refused to tell me." Rowan's fists were trembling.

Maeve tutted. "Keeping secrets, Aelin? From your aunt?"

"Not for all the world would I tell you where the third key is." "Oh, I know," Maeve purred. She snapped her fingers, and the wolves rose to their feet, Connall and Fenrys then shifted to their fae form and gripped him. Rowan did nothing, didn't even struggle because what was the use of it, he had been compelled because of the gods damned blood oath to stay still. so the twins gripped his arms, forcing him to his knees. Lorcan and Gavriel came in with whips in their hands.

 _Maeve knew_. She had to know.

She knew what the effect of a whip was to Aelin. Which was precisely why she had chosen this out of all the weapons.

Lorcan didn't hesitate as he ripped Rowan's jacket and tunic and shirt from him.

"Until she answers me," Maeve said.

Lorcan unfurled the whip, and then raised it.

"Please," Aelin whispered.

Lorcan didn't seem to hear as he brpught it dopwn. Rowan bowed when the whip sliced into his back. He gritted his teeth, hissing, but did not cry out.

He wouldn't. Just for Aelin. For the princess who had stolen his heart.

"Please," Aelin said again.

Rowan only had enough time to breathe once before Gavriel too brought the whip down.

Aelin was shattering. She didn't know how many times he had endured this. How many times Maeve had punished him and the other members of his cadre, as Fireheart called them.

Maeve said, "How long this lasts depends entirely on you, niece."

Aelin was still looking at Rowan.

"Stop it," Aelin growled.

"Not for all the world, Aelin? But what about for Prince Rowan?" Maeve purred.

Another strike and blood was on the stones.

"Tell me where the third Wyrdkey is, Aelin."

Crack. Rowan jerked against the twins' iron grip. He wouldn't cry out but it hurt.

Damn, it hurt real bad.

And damn him more because Aelin opened her mouth to say the answer.

 _No. no. no._

Was she willing to tell the answer of the question for Rowan's sake? She shouldn't. the idea of one Wyrdkey in Maeve's hand…

 _No._

So Rowan lifted his head, teeth bared, his face savage with pain and rage. He knew she could read the word in his eyes, but he still said, "Don't."

The heat spread from her, warming the stones so swiftly that Rowan's blood turned to red steam. His companions swore and near- invisible shields rippled around them and their sovereign.

The gold in her eyes had shifted to flame. His fireheart. Maeve's face had drained of any blood.

Before Rowan knew what had happened, he heard the river steaming around them, and then shouting arose from the palace, from the city, as a flame, that did not burn or hurt, enveloped everything. The entire island was wreathed in wildfire. Like she had once done to Ramelle.

Doranelle was encased in her flame.


	5. Chapter 5

Maeve was standing now, stalking off the dais. Wide- eyed, Rowan hung from his friends' arms, his blood fizzing on the stones.

"You wanted a demonstration," Aelin said quietly. Sweat trickled down her back, and Rowan tried to send a cold wind towards her. To soothe her. But to no avail. He was too weak right now. He didn't know whom he hated more: Maeve or himself. "One thought from me, and your city will burn."

"It is stone," Maeve snapped.

Aelin smiled, not the smiles that Rowan had fallen in love with, but a wicked, evil smile. "Your people aren't."

Maeve's nostrils flared delicately. "Would you murder innocents, Aelin? Perhaps. You did it for years, didn't you?"

Aelin's smile didn't falter. "Try me. Just try to push me, Aunt, and see what comes of it. This was what you wanted, wasn't it? Not for me to master my magic, but for you to learn just how powerful I am. Not how much of your sister's blood flows in my veins— no, you've known from the start that I have very little of Mab's power. You wanted to know how much I got from Brannon."

The flames rose higher, and the shouts— of fright, not pain— rose with them. The flames would not hurt anyone unless she willed it. She could sense other magics fighting against her own, tearing holes into her power, but the conflagration surrounding the veranda burned strong.

She was the Heir of Fire and ash. She was the Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. She was his Fireheart.

 _She had saved him. Was willing to tell Maeve the location of a Wyrdkey for him. Was willing to burn the earth to ashes for him. Was willing to burn and kill and maim for him._

Aelin and Maeve started arguing. Well, Aelin clearly had the upper hand. When the fire had extinguished and the lights went out, Aelin came to him and Rowan sagged against her. Breathing her in. Murmuring her name.

Lights kindled. Maeve remained where she stood, dress soot- stained, face shining with sweat. "Rowan, come here." Rowan stiffened, grunting with pain, but staggered to the dais, blood trickling from the hideous wounds on his back. "Give me that sword and get out." She extended a hand toward Goldryn.

Aelin shook her head. "I don't think so. Brannon left it in that cave for anyone but you to find. And so it is mine, through blood and fire and darkness." She sheathed Goldryn at her side. "Not very pleasant when someone doesn't give you what you want, is it?"

Rowan was just standing there, his face a mask of calm despite his wounds, but his eyes were filled with sorrow.

Maeve's lips thinned. "You will pay for this."

But Aelin stalked to Maeve again, took her hand, and said, "Oh, I don't think I will." She threw her mind open to the queen.

Aelin hadn't told him anything about it. He didn't know what to interpret. He didn't know what the Queen of Terrasen was showing the Queen of Fae.

Aelin pulled back from Maeve. The Maeve's face was pale.

"I suggest," Aelin said to the Fae Queen, "that you think very, very carefully before threatening me or my own, or hurting Rowan again."

"Rowan belongs to me," Maeve hissed. "I can do what I wish with him."

Rowan felt Aelin's eyes on him, but he wouldn't meet them. He wouldn't let her eyes meet his eyes which were dull with pain. Not from the wounds on his back, but from the parting that had been creeping up on them with each step that took them closer to Doranelle.

Slowly, carefully, Aelin pulled the ring from her pocket. It was the simple golden ring that had been left in Goldryn's scabbard. Rowan had picked up it, knowing exactly what sword he was picking up that day in the mountain cave, had thrown it to her across the ice as a future bargaining chip— the only protection he could offer her against Maeve, if she was smart enough to figure it out.

"I think you've been looking for this for a long time," Aelin said.

"That does not belong to you."

"Doesn't it? I found it, after all. In Goldryn's scabbard, where Brannon left it after grabbing it off Athril's corpse— the family ring Athril would have given you someday. And in the thousands of years since then, you never found it, so . . . I suppose it's mine by chance." Aelin closed her fist around the ring. "But who would have thought you were so sentimental?"

 _Stop taunting her._

Maeve's lips thinned. "Give it to me."

Aelin barked out a laugh. "I don't have to give you a damn thing."

So Aelin said, "I'll make a trade with you, though." Good. Exactly how he had planned. Let her trade the ring for alliance or defense.

Good.

And then, "Your beloved's ring— for Rowan's freedom from his blood oath."

Rowan stiffened. The world stopped. His heart stopped beating. It was absolute silence.

His friends whipped their heads to her.

"A blood oath is eternal," Maeve said tightly.

What was Aelin thinking? Why was she doing this? She should demand armies. Not someone like Rowan, a prince who had nothing to offer.

"I don't care. Free him." Aelin held out the ring again. "Your choice. Free him, or I melt this right here."

Rowan did not turn.

He wouldn't go down the road. He wouldn't let his hopes rise. Not when they weren't possible.

The next words Rowan heard, "Very well. I've grown rather bored of his company these past few decades, anyway." Blew his mind away.

Rowan faced her— slowly, as if he didn't quite believe what he was hearing. It was Aelin's gaze, not Maeve's, that he met, his eyes shining.

"By my blood that flows in you," Maeve said. "Through no dishonor, through no act of treachery, I hereby free you, Rowan Whitethorn, of your blood oath to me."

Rowan just stared and stared at her, hardly heard the rest, the words Maeve spoke in the Old Language. Rowan took out a dagger and spilled his own blood on the stones.

He had never heard of a blood oath being broken before, but Aelin had risked it regardless. Perhaps not in all the history of the world had one ever been broken honorably. His friends were wide- eyed and silent.

Maeve said, "You are free of me, Prince Rowan Whitethorn."

Rowan rushed to her, his hands on her cheeks, his brow against her own.

"Aelin," he murmured, and it wasn't a reprimand, or a thank- you, but . . . a prayer. "Aelin," he whispered again, grinning, and kissed her brow before he dropped to both knees before her.

And when he reached for her wrist, she jerked back. "You're free. You're free now."

Yes, he was free. Free from Maeve. But he wanted to blood sworn to his Fireheart. Rowan's face was calm, though— steady, assured. _Trust me._

 _I don't want you enslaved to me. I won't be that kind of queen,_ she said through their silent conversations.

 _You have no court— you are defenseless, landless, and without allies. She might let you walk out of here today, but she could come after you tomorrow. She knows how powerful I am— how powerful we are together. It will make her hesitate._

 _Please don't do this— I will give you anything else you ask, but not this._

 _I claim you, Aelin. To what ever end._

When Rowan reached for her wrist again, she did not fight him.

"Together, Fireheart," he said, pushing back the sleeve of her tunic. "We'll find a way together." He looked up from her exposed wrist. "A court that will change the world," he promised.

And then she was nodding— nodding and smiling, too, as he drew the dagger from his boot and offered it to her. "Say it, Aelin."

She took his dagger and held it over her exposed wrist. Rowan wasn't sure he was breathing. This was happening. "Do you promise to serve in my court, Rowan Whitethorn, from now until the day you die?"

"I do. Until my last breath, and the world beyond. To what ever end." Every word, he meant them.

She would have paused then, asked him again if he really wanted to do this, but Maeve was still there, a shadow lurking behind them. That was why he had done it now, here— so Aelin could not object, could not try to talk him out of it.

She grinned as she drew the dagger across her wrist, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. She offered her arm to him.

He took her wrist in his hands and lowered his mouth to her skin.

For a heartbeat, something lightning- bright snapped through him and then settled— a thread binding them, tighter and tighter with each pull Rowan took of her blood. Three mouthfuls— his canines pricking against her skin— and then he lifted his head, his lips shining with her blood, his eyes glittering and alive and full of steel.

There were no words to do justice to what passed between them in that moment.

Maeve saved them from trying to remember how to speak as she hissed, "Now that you have insulted me further, get out. All of you." His friends were gone in an instant, padding off for the shadows, taking those wretched whips with them.

Aelin helped Rowan to his feet, letting him heal the wound on her wrist as his back knitted together. Shoulder to shoulder, they looked at the Fae Queen one last time.

But there was only a white barn owl flapping off into the moonlit night.

And Rowan didn't care.


	6. Chapter 6

"I owe you." Rowan said as soon as they entered their inn room. He hadn't stopped to get his belongings from his quarters. Frankly speaking, he didn't care. He did want to say goodbye to his cadre though. But Maeve wouldn't allow it. So he just ran- ran from Doranelle, with Aelin- and bought a room in an inn.

"I don't owe you anything." She said as she sat on the edge of the bed.

He went and kneeled before her. "Yes, you do." he was smiling. He couldn't stop smiling.

"First thing, stop kneeling. You're my friend. Sit beside me." she patted the bed. He went and sat there. "Second, I don't rule or own you, so you don't have to pretend like that."

"You do own me."

"No, I don't. The only person who owns you is yourself, Prince." She said softly.

So unlike Maeve.

"Thanks." He said and linked his fingers with hers.

"But still I want to do something for you." he pressed.

"How about you stop wanting to kick my ass." She smirked.

He snorted. "It's been a long time since I wanted to do that."

She raised an eyebrow. He nudged her with his elbow.

"Okay, how about you tattoo me."

"That's it?"

She shrugged.

"Where?"

"On my scars. About my story of love and loss. The names of my beloved dead. All over the scars on my back."

"Are you sure?" he asked softly. It might hurt more on scars. She squeezed his fingers once.

"Yes. Can you do that?"

"Of course. Tomorrow?"

Her face lit up. "You can do that?"

"Obviously."

"Thanks. Yes."

Rowan got up and said, "I'll start drawing."

"Hmm. I'm sleeping." And by that, she laid down on her back.

"Thank you." Rowan said once again and kissed her brow.

"Ach." Though silver lined her own eyes.


End file.
